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“Calla—”
“Can’t you spare a couple days for me? Come for a long weekend? Please? I’ll pay for it!” I had no intention of begging Diana or making her feel bad, but the desperate words tumble out before I can stop them.
She makes a strangled sound. “I’m sorry. I’ll come next year, I promise. Listen, I’ve gotta go. Spin class starts soon, and I need to prepare myself mentally for Sergei.”
I check my watch, confirming her class doesn’t start for another three hours. I know, because we used to take it together. It’s not a surprise, though, that Diana would find a way out of our call the moment she begins to feel guilty. She doesn’t handle that emotion well. I do my best to keep the disappointment from my voice. “Say hi to him for me.” I used to despise Sergei and his militant spin classes. The woman who teaches the spin class at the gym in Wasilla has a docile voice and cranks show tunes.
“Talk to ya later. Keep flaunting that beautiful man.”
I laugh, despite my mood. “You have no shame.”
“No, what I don’t have is a gorgeous naked Viking and a mountainous backdrop to exploit.”
“What the hell am I?” Aaron hollers.
“Not Norwegian!” she throws back, though with that teasing tone reserved for their verbal jabs. ’Kay, gotta go. Love you!”
“Love you, too. Bye, Aar—”
The phone clicks before I finish getting my words out.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and settle back into weeding, trying to smother my letdown. I knew I couldn’t expect my family and friends to fly to Alaska every year—no matter how many times they say they want to come. But what will happen, as my parents get older and Diana is immersed in lawyerly things? How many years will stretch between our visits?
I toss the weed over the fence and Zeke bleats. “Maybe I should tell Jonah I want to fly home for my birthday,” I say out loud. I know what Jonah’s answer will be—he can’t leave for a week in the middle of summer, especially after he signed this contract. I could go on my own. But the truth is, as much as I begrudge Diana for her unwillingness to leave Aaron on his own, the idea of taking off for my birthday without Jonah doesn’t appeal to me much, either.
Zeke bleats again. I’ve grown familiar enough with the noises he makes to know this one sounds distressed.
I look up in time to see him run along the fence line, away from me, toward his pen. And then he suddenly keels over and lays there, in the grass, his legs stiff in front of him.
“Zeke?” I approach the garden gate, watching with a frown as the goat wriggles his body, struggling to stand. By the time I’ve exited the garden pen and made it to him, he’s on his hooves again. An unexpected wave of relief stirs in my gut. I’ve gotten used to having the dumb goat as company, trotting behind the ATV every morning, nibbling on grass and devouring weeds. Where Bandit is off in a tree somewhere half the time, Zeke has become my faithful companion, a sounding board when I babble.
He bleats loudly again—that same distressed sound—and darts forward, only to fall over a second time, this time rolling onto his back, his legs held straight in the air.
It clicks. “Oh my God!” I’ve seen YouTube videos of fainting goats before—compilations of them falling over, temporarily paralyzed, when they’re startled. Diana’s brother was obsessed with them for a time.
This is the first time Zeke has done it since I’ve been around, though.
&n
bsp; “What is freaking you out so much that—” My question dies in my throat, replaced by a yelp when I spot the wolf standing no more than twenty feet away, watching us.
No, not a wolf, not exactly.
It’s Oscar, Roy’s dog.
It takes ten seconds for my heart rate to resemble something stable, and then I’m left wondering if I should in fact be worried after all, because in this moment, with his cunning, narrowed eyes and the way his head is bowed forward, Oscar looks every bit the wild animal and not at all domesticated.
But Oscar gives Zeke barely more than a glance as the goat struggles to his hooves again, his keen gaze locked on me. I know for certain now that it’s been him all along, lurking within the trees, scaring me half to death.
Does he recognize me from that day?
Why does he keep coming back?
There are pages in that book Jonah got me about what to do when you encounter wild animals. Yell at some, speak calmly to others; don’t fight back with this one, arm yourself with sticks and rocks for another. Don’t ever run, don’t ever turn your back. Those last two seemed universal.
I don’t recall any advice about dealing with the grouchy neighbor’s wolf dog that repeatedly stalks you on your property.
Oscar hasn’t so much as twitched, and when I venture to take a step forward, he takes a quick hobble-step back, heavily favoring his injured hind leg.
